“Embracing chaos may be the journey we take to finding peace”

On Friday 17th August, I flew from Houston to Iowa to visit my bestest friend in the world, her family, and some of my affectionately known as ‘other Iowa friends’.  I got off the plane, walked to arrivals, gave one of the aforementioned ‘other Iowa friends’ (who actually bothered to turn up ON TIME to greet my arrival to the Hawkeye state) a hug and walked out onto the sidewalk to wait for the arrival of my bestest friend to show up.  I gave her a hug (and some shit for being late – but, she came with a frappe from Starbucks for me, so all was forgiven – and by that I mean I spent the entire weekend reminding her that she left me stranded at the airport and it was, in fact, Amy that rescued me! 😉 LOL!)

Anyways, her house is about a thirty minute drive from the airport.  We get to her house and there’s books sitting waiting for me.  Now, before I go on here, I think it’s important to note that I’ve had a rough, er, two years? Two years.  Let’s go with that.  I didn’t handle my move from the US back to Northern Ireland well, repatriating, even for just the ten months I was there, didn’t work the way I’d wanted, hoped or expected it to.  My best friend/mentor/”big brother” died unexpectedly around six months later, and four months after that I was on a plane to move to India – a whopping ten and a half hours ahead of where I consider to be my home and the centre of my universe.

Ten and a half hours ahead of my life, my friends, my friends chosen to be my family, and the place where I had, until very recently thought, my strength resided.  Do you know how hard it is to retain and work on friendships when every day, when you’re sleeping, they’re awake – and vice versa?  My dad got sick, needed two major surgeries, and the insomnia I’d developed from not wanting to miss anything in my previous life in Houston, worsened when I slept with headphones in and my volume on full in case something happened in Ireland and I was ‘needed’.  I’m not sure what kind of use I’d have been at 3.30am if something had happened, but in my head? I’d convinced myself that it was something I needed to do.

I wasn’t sleeping.  I wasn’t eating – this may sound laughable.  No one gets to 260lbs by not eating, but let me tell you.  It’s a thing.  I was eating maybe one meal a day – for an extended period of time and my weight climbed – not decreased.  I was sleep deprived – again for an extended period of time.  I was depressed, run down, I kept getting sick and convinced India was the worst place on earth and keeping me from being where I wanted to be, but moreso, WHO I wanted to be.

Anyways.  Back to the more recent past, I get to my BFF’s house, after not having seen her in WAY too long, and she hands me – books.  She’s got three copies of a book called, ‘Girl, Wash your Face’ by some chick, Rachel Hollis.  She’s got three binders, fancy pencils, highlighters and has even printed out the discussion material question pack that the author had put together.  One copy for her, one for Amy and one for me.

Homework.

I hadn’t seen her in forever, and my best friend in the entire world, hands me…homework??

More than that, she had handed me one of those trite, self-help, believe in yourself, fix your life, put your big girl panties on, only you can change your life-type-books that I actively avoid reading, because damnit, my big girl panties are worn out, the elastic snapped and hurt my ass and, in my head, I was already doing my best to just get from day to day.

“We’re doing this”, she announced to me.

When she gets like that, there’s really no point in arguing with her.  She’s pretty persuasive.  So I sat down and started reading.  She was already a chapter or three ahead, and had started writing her ‘Keeper’ from each chapter in beautiful calligraphy on the pages of her discussion packet.

“I could never write so pretty like that” I bemoaned.

“Lies” She replied and threw her calligraphy practice book at me.

And that’s how it all began.  Six weeks since I opened the cover of the book, six weeks of reading chapters (there was a break for the end of my time in Houston and my travel back to India), some that had little relevance to my life, and some that I felt I could have written myself.  I could easily have finished the book in less time, but I wanted to do it slowly, pace myself, not rush, face the content, and not skip through it, not speed reading because I knew better.  Some chapters (I’m not a good mom, I am defined by my weight, I need a hero and, mostly, ‘I will never get past this’) I out rightly stopped at, I had to work myself up to reading, force myself into sitting and opening the book and turning the pages, at times I contemplated stopping, or skipping ahead, ‘I get the jist’ I’d say to myself.  ‘Yes, perhaps, but you won’t have finished‘, I’d answer.  ‘I will never get past this’ caused heavy sobbing and resulted in my throwing the book across the room (it was a rare home alone moment where Col was out picking up Lewis and the maid wasn’t around).  I confronted truths and realities about myself that I didn’t want to, that I’d ignored and I had down right lied to myself about.

Four weeks ago, I started to do LESS reading, and more DOING.  I go through these phases, where I decide my life isn’t what I want it to be, so I’ll go all out, change everything at once, throw an entirely new set of balls in the air, give everything a half-assed try and after a week or so of success, things will start to fall and fail, and I’ll feel like an utter failure, like I can’t do anything, let alone, EVERYTHING and I’ll give up and go back to the safety of my comfort blanket, my normal, my cocoon of ‘it’s not that bad’.  My friend who died last year would always tell me that I wasn’t meant to blend in, I wasn’t meant to be part of the status quo.

I told him my concerns about (potentially at the time) moving to India, being stared at, sticking out and his answers always frustrated me, ‘You were not meant to blend in’, he’d say, ‘Stick out.  Shine, like you’re supposed to.  You could change the world if you’d only let yourself’.  I’d laugh at him and think he was insane.  That he was blowing smoke up my butt, stroking my non-existent ego and just trying to feed me those ‘Shine bright like a diamond’ fortune cookie fortunes that have become daily facebook fodder.

When he died, those frustrating and hugely uncomfortable words of persistent and relentless encouragement stopped.  The person I’d bug 34853948753397 times a day with stray thoughts, ideas and dreams, was no longer on the end of the phone to say ‘Quit dreaming, and just DO IT’.  I went back to my old way of thinking that I was supposed to hide, blend in, and not stick out.  I let myself believe that he was wrong, and his voice was one voice, drowned out in a world that tells fat chicks, and women, that they should be seen and rarely heard – and I’m both large and female.

I got a letter from him after he died, but, I think at the time I got it, I was still drowning in grief and so angry and bitter that I’d lost him, that I didn’t really take the time to absorb his words.  Or, realise just how damn blessed I was to get his words immortalised in a letter about my reaching for the stars…

“You have a greater purpose which may not be understood at this time.  But, as the years go by I’m certain that you will leave your mark on the world and the world will be a better place because of it…Do not be afraid to chase your dreams.  Push to your limits and beyond.  We barely started helping you discover your true potential and my greatest fear in death is that you will stop working towards it.   Push yourself.  Not only outwardly, but inwardly as well.  It’s hard to tame those inner voices at times and get them to work WITH you instead of against you.  I hope you’re not afraid to try. 

Step out of your comfort zone.  

Learn to meditate.  Take time to care for yourself every day.  Change your clothes and clean your face even when you do not want to. 

Drink water. 

Try herbal remedies.  Learn about essential oils.  Schedule and take an annual self retreat to re-center and re-balance yourself.  YOU are your own greatest asset and require great care to remain as such.  You have a soul that needs nurture, that only you can water.  You are also your own greatest weakness.  Remember not to allow yourself to lose your own inner battle.  You are ALWAYS stronger than you believe.  You have repeatedly proven that, even if you do not want to acknowledge it.  

It doesn’t matter where you live, life is an adventure that is meant to challenge and push you, but also reward you.  Our pasts do not have to define us.  Falling once.  Twice.  Three or a hundred times, does not guarantee falling again.  Falling is ok.  Being defeated is not.  Dust off and aim to surpass those ceilings which taunt you…

You should not be defined by whom you have around you.  You do not need them to define you.  You are exceptional in your own right.  Your gifts to the world are amazing. 

My one regret in life is not bout the people I have wronged.  Not the bad choices I have made.  it is the fact that I will not be there to see where your journey takes you.  I will not be there to help you realise your worth.  To remind you each day that you ARE enough.  You’ve DONE enough.  That your worries and fears only take away the potential for peace and just be present.”

Even typing that just now made me cry.  It’s not the first time I’ve shared excerpts of his letter to me either.  It just hurts.  When I first got this letter, I read it multiple times a day, just to ‘hear’ his words and be closer to him.  Then, after a while, I locked it away and stopped looking at it.  Cause it hurt.  Because I was angry at him for leaving me.  Because I was angry at him for talking such BS.  Because I couldn’t recognise the person he was talking about with those words.  I am enough? I am exceptional? My gifts to the world are amazing? There’s no way on earth he could have been talking about me.  Falling is ok? Since when? We are always under so much pressure to never fall.  To always succeed.  Is going to a retreat going to bring him back to my life? Is using essential oils going to cure the pain of having lost such a monumental influence and mentor? I got angry, I placed blame, and I blamed HIM and his leaving my life on the reasons for why my ‘transformation’, or process of self discovery and development having stalled.  Can you believe that? I blamed HIM, the dead guy, for why I lost my fire, my self believe, my self confidence, and any capability I ever had for self caring.

He, my dead friend, who pushed me to be my very best self? Was suddenly, and absolutely my scape goat.  But I never realised.

In truth? I was scared.  Scared to do anything without his guidance, scared to try anything in case I failed.  I’d convinced myself that I couldn’t do, well, just about anything, so why bother trying because I’m only going to fail.  I convinced myself that I couldn’t do anything in his honour, cause that wouldn’t bring him back – so what’s the point?

I had SO. MANY. EXCUSES.

When really I was using his death as a shroud, an excuse for not moving forward – which, in truth, is a pretty abhorrent thing to do, and does such a disservice to his teachings.  I hid behind grief.  I was lazy.  I was overwhelmed with India (man, some days I still am!) But my ‘reasons’, were just excuses, until, among other things, THIS EFFING BOOK, made me confront myself.  Do some soul searching, and digging deep in my life and came to the conclusion that I really DID need to just, WASH MY FACE.

So, four weeks ago, something changed in my brain, I’m guessing due to a combination of everything, finally listening to Taylors voice in my head instead of ignoring it despite the stinging in my heart that he’s still gone and never coming back, this Godforsaken book I was confronting myself with basically every damn day echoing things that he did and pushing me to look inside myself for answers, instead of outwardly looking to place blame, to try and find my OWN belief that I could take on the entire world, and win – if only I’d let myself freakin’ try.

I finally picked a short list of things to improve upon.  I resolved to do them, and only those listed, repeatedly, daily, habitually, until I felt comfortable adding in anything new to work on.  But I didn’t completely limit myself.  I also made a list of goals, dreams, and things to add in to the original list – but I started small.  Manageable.  Recognising the errors of my ways previously and resolving not to make the same ‘all or nothing’ mistakes I’d made in the past.

Waking up at 6.30-7am every morning.

Prior to this, I let my overtired (from working til all hours) husband, get up with our child and I’d get up ta 8.25am to take Lewis to school at 8.30am.  I decided to stop this.  I decided I wanted to get up early, even if Lewis wasn’t awake – and just, BE.

Taking morning vitamins and supplements.

I haven’t taken vitamins since I was trying to get pregnant with Lewis.  I added some Lysine (to hopefully prevent cold sores in the future after a shit-tastic time dealing with half my face covered in the damn things) and some morning ‘neuro claris’ supplements.

Drinking a minimum of two litres of water per day. 

I haven’t done this in FOREVER.  I basically main line Diet Coke or Coke Zero.  I could easily drink two litres a day of that crap.  But, I’d resolved.  Two litres of water per day.  I can still drink my soda, just much less of it, and early in the day so I don’t wind up affecting my attempts to sleep better.  The first two weeks, it was a two litre goal, but it quickly became an ‘at least two litre’ goal, because I’d found that most days I was thirsty and pushing 2.5-3 litres intake.

Eating three meals a day.

This? This was by FAR the hardest of any of my goals, probably ever.  Going from one meal a day – that was often a McDonalds, or crap in the cupboards, to three, square meals a day – when some days I had to physically shove food in my face, when I truly didn’t want to even look at it? Felt impossible.

But.  I’ve managed it.  Four full weeks of three meals per day.  Breakfast (the hardest one for me), lunch and dinner.  I’ve had maybe ONE McDonalds in that whole time (this is nothing short of a miracle), I’ve been eating out less and doing more home prep and cooking.  I’ve been getting up in the mornings with (or before) Lewis and I’ve been having breakfast with him.  I’ll come home from school drop off and find that I’m actually HUNGRY now and I’ll have a snack.

My body is adjusting.

Slowly, but adjusting.

Part way through those four weeks, I got sick. I had a parasite in my intestine and an infection in my blood – and usually, I’d have used that as an excuse to quit.  ‘I’m sick, I need to lie in in the morning,” “I’m sick, I don’t feel like eating”, “I’m sick, I can’t…insert lame excuse here”.

This was probably my true test to myself, and I passed with flying colours.  I didn’t let ANY of those four balls drop.  I got up early, I ate three meals, I took my vitamins and I drank my water.  Religiously.  It may have meant I stayed home, it may have meant I didn’t talk to people, it may have meant Col had to pull more than his fair share of parenting duties, but I clung to those four things, with both hands, refusing to let any of the balls drop.  I eventually downloaded a habit tracker, so I could reward myself with the check-marks at the end of every day, so I could SEE just how much progress I’d made.

I get that to many this sounds like a regular day, big effing deal Las, you ate, drank and took vitamins, but to me? This is HUGE.

This week just past? I decided it was time to throw a couple more balls in the air.

I started Yoga.

I’ve done two classes and plan to do three this week, and every week following – something I’ve been saying for an entire YEAR now that I was going to do.

I signed up to start Spanish lessons next week – something I said to myself for the entire seven and a half years that I lived in Houston, that I never *actually* did.

I signed up to volunteer at a girls day-camp this month with a charity here in Pune.

I picked out my first (and subsequent tattoo) and think I’ve picked the place to go – I just need to go and DO it.  I’ve planned holiday parties for the next three months and started sourcing vendors and things I need to make that happen.

Today, I signed up for NANOWRIMO.  I haven’t written in forever.  My blog seems to be dying a slow and painful death.  It’s not that I’m not doing things worthy of sharing, it’s moreso that I seem to forget how to speak.  I haven’t written fiction in years.  My friend Liz (among other people) keeps telling me that I need to write a book.  I’ve never done NANOWRIMO before – despite my best friend being a group leader for years in the US and telling me I should totally do it.  Why? Because I was lazy, overwhelmed, convinced I was a terrible writer and had nothing to say that anyone would ever dare want to read.  But, today, I signed up, and I am already starting to make plans in my mind about where I want my story to go.  Because today, I realised, that even if no one reads it? I don’t care.  I have words bubbling inside me that need to break free, because that’s just who I am.

Tomorrow? Who knows what I’ll do?

Maybe nothing.

Maybe everything.

But I’m done convincing myself I can’t before I even look at whatever it is I’m thinking about.

I’m done convincing myself I can’t before I even try.

I’m not magically cured.  I’m not fixed.  I’m not beyond having my ‘moments’ of breakdown and self doubt and self hate.  But I’m becoming more aware of things.  I’m focusing on forward motion.  Of things I’d like to do.  Things I’ve thought of doing.  Things I never imagined doing.  I’m resolved to be kinder to myself.  To take better care of myself.  To push myself and pull myself, and most of all? I’m resolved to try.

Thank you.  To my bestest friend, Amber.  For knowing me better than anyone.  For knowing how to handle me.  For always being there for me – whether it’s in good times, bad, or at 3am in the middle of the night when she’s just gotten back to sleep.  For tolerating me.  For the tough love.  For the hugs.  For all but throwing the book at me and giving me a kick to pull myself out of the self-deprecating fog.  For believing in me, unwaveringly, that I am strong, capable and worthy, and who loves me even when I’m being a whiny bitch – loves me enough to throw books at me and make me wash my damn face.

“You HAVE to believe in yourself.  You HAVE to hold absolute faith in where you’re going, even when you don’t know how you’ll get there.  You HAVE to know that you are worthy of good things.  You HAVE to believe in yourself.”

Today is as good a time as any, to start.